


Laissez le Bon Temps Roulez

by rei_c



Series: Le Monde de Perique [1]
Category: Actor RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Drug Use, M/M, Magic, Mardi Gras, New Orleans, Recreational Drug Use, Tarot, Voodoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-21 09:52:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3687753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen Ackles flees to New Orleans in an attempt to escape the misery of his recent divorce.</p>
<p>He throws back a few too many daiquiris, gets suckered into a tarot reading, finds his head swimming as the streets fill up with revelers and the party starts. Color, dancing, music, and the kid ... well, not really a kid but younger than Jensen, certainly. Miles of tanned skin and a grin to beat the full moon. Jensen should really know better, but if you spend enough time in New Orleans, you start to question reality.</p>
<p>It might be a dream or the perique liquor he drank at the last bar, but Jensen doesn't much care. The kid is his for the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laissez le Bon Temps Roulez

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the OP who offered such a wonderful prompt! It was impossible for me to pass up -- and apparently impossible for me to let go of. Prompt and fill were originally posted [here](http://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/4214.html?thread=744310#t744310); this has been cleaned up and edited and someday I might like to revisit this universe because there are a million other stories to be told. (That being said, if any of you want to see anything in particular from this universe, please feel free to leave me a comment!)
> 
> Perfect song to listen to, even though it's not jazzy/bluesy/NOLA-y: [Meg Myers - Desire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bR5u9jb0PJE).

Laissez le Bon Temps Roulez  
_Let the Good Times Roll!_  


Jensen gets out of the cab at Canal and Bourbon, shoving a crumpled wad of bills at the driver before he slams the door. He's been in New Orleans all of forty-five minutes, just enough time to drop his suitcase off at the hotel and then get here: the French Quarter. He's earned it -- a vacation, a chance to get away -- after the divorce. Nothing but misery back home in Texas with alimony payments eating up half his salary and his parents simultaneously disappointed in him for messing up his marriage and trying to hook him up with daughters of their church friends.

He doesn't want another woman, he wants -- something else. A man. A boy. Something that's _his_ , way down deep to the marrow. He hasn't been to New Orleans since Mardi Gras of his senior year of college and he doesn't remember much of that trip, but he remembers the booze and the beads and the boys, such a wild party, so much skin everywhere, so much dick. Maybe it was stupid to come here, thinking that things can be like that again. 

Jensen eyes a group of college kids leaving the Quarter, drunk already even though it's only noon. One of them smiles at him, takes him in from head to toe and then licks his lips, lifting his head in a nod of invitation. 

Maybe it was stupid to come here. But, then again, maybe it wasn't. 

 

Jensen walks down a couple blocks of Bourbon, getting a shot of rum at every daiquiri stand he passes and going into a few of the bars as well for doubles of Jack, straight. Everyone's smiling, having a good time, wearing beads around their neck and wrists and very little else; Jensen feels overdressed in his jeans and tank -- it might be Mardi Gras but Easter's late this year and the winter was mild. He lets a bartender at one joint toss a few strands of beads around him and then a feather boa, and on his way to the next daiquiri stand he stops in a tourist shop and buys a cheap plastic domino mask. Jensen doesn't put it on, not yet. Once the party starts taking over the street, he will. 

He takes in the scenery but it's still early, too early for the majority of the people who came here to do nothing but party -- they're probably all still sleeping off last night's revelry. So when the opportunity comes to duck into a tiny little shop with a bright blue door, Jensen takes it.

 

He's not even entirely sure what this place is. It's dark and quiet, like it's been insulated from the noise outside -- okay, so there aren't people but the bars are blasting their music with the doors open, he should be able to hear something. But he can't. Nerves loosened and courage bolstered by all the rum and whiskey coursing through him, he steps in further, takes in the rows of candles and statues and tiny little models of -- are those dildos?

"Naw, child," a woman says. Jensen jumps, he hadn't seen her. She's emerging from the darkness leading into the back of the shop and wearing the most outrageously electric blue dress he's ever seen. He has to blink to take it in. "Not dildos, not those. Them's meant to be offerings. Why you here?"

Jensen shrugs -- offerings? Offerings of what and to whom? -- and says, "Not sure. The door was pretty bright, I guess it caught my attention."

The woman laughs. "Child, I'm asking why you here in the Big Easy. What brought you down this way? Was it Mardi Gras?" She stops there, takes a step closer and looks at Jensen with narrowed, thoughtful eyes. "Not the party," she says. "You here to find something. Someone. Yeah? You running, child, and you about to run smack dab into a wall of your own making."

She's really starting to creep Jensen out. "I should go," he says. 

Before he take one step backwards, she darts forward, grabs his wrist. There's a flare of static electricity when they touch and her smile only grows wider at the feel of it. 

"For you, a free reading," she says. "Come with me, my little magician, and I'll tell you what you need to hear." 

She tugs at him and she's strong, strong enough to send Jensen tilting off-balance. Even as he's trying to regain his footing and find a polite way to ask her to let him go, she's leading him into the back of the shop, past jars and bottles of things Jensen would really rather not be seeing. 

 

There's a room at the back and she opens the door, pushing Jensen through and then following him, closing the door behind her. The light is better here but not by much: a couple sconces on the wall, a side table covered with lit candles in glass hurricane candleholders. The candleholders are painted, some with grinning skulls, others with dancing skeletons. It's enough to make Jensen shiver even though it's got to be twenty degrees warmer in here than out in the shop. 

"Sit down, child," the woman tells him, taking a seat at the rickety old table in the middle of the room. She gestures at the other chair, across from her. "Sooner you sit, sooner I can do my thing, sooner you leave." 

Put like that, Jensen decides he doesn't really have a choice and what the hell, he came to New Orleans to get away from his life, right? Getting his fortunes told or getting murdered, whatever happens in this room, it's definitely away from his normal day-to-day. 

He sits, freezes when he hears the chair creak and only gradually relaxes when it holds up his weight without further protest. 

 

She shuffles, looking at Jensen, and the moment when he fidgets, shifting in his chair, she stops and turns over the top three cards: the tower, ace of swords, the star.

"Something happened in your life, yeah?" she says, tapping one broken and jagged nail on the tower card. "Sent everything you knew tumbling to the ground. But you got to look at it another way, child. You get the chance to rebuild now. You pushing over your old life 'cause you can't handle it no more. Now you left with everything you need, everything important."

Jensen stares at her. He's never been to a psychic before and he knows that what the woman said, it could apply to so many people in so many circumstances, but damn, she's right. He pushed for the divorce, couldn't take one more day being married to someone he didn't love. But what's he left with? Just himself. 

"Ace of swords, now, I don't pull that one very often, child," the woman goes on, once Jensen's done thinking and looks up at her. "The potential for triumph or defeat, to be used in clarity and for justice or in anger and for evil. But it also say your heart is strong. You just gotta be careful what you use that strength for 'cause the sword cut both ways, y'hear me? You got power in you, child. How you use it, that up to you."

Okay, that's a little weird. Jensen's not sure how to take that. Power? He's been working at the same law firm since graduation -- since his internship, actually -- and he's still working the same hours as the newbies. He thought once that he'd be a junior partner within ten years but he's looking at another decade of associate-level pay and work both until a promotion, so power? No, not him.

"Power," she tells him. "It's not your work, child, it's you. And what this card say? You got a choice 'bout how to use that power. Whether for good or evil, that up to you. Now the star," she says, frowning. "Hope. Faith. The tower swept out all the bad in your life, leaving you with your power and your choice for the future. And the star means good things coming your way. Now, I just wanna see…" 

She trails off and turns over one more card. She smiles, seeing it, and Jensen gets chills as the temperature in the room drops, instantly. It's cold enough that he can see his breath stream out of his mouth and nostrils. 

"Ah," she murmurs. "Of course. The ace of cups. You got a strong gift, that's sure enough, to draw such powerful cards." 

Almost against his will, Jensen asks, "What does this one mean?"

"Beginnings, child," she says. "Beginnings."

 

Jensen shivers and then stops as he steps out of the back room. It was freezing in there but out here, it's fine, normal room temperature for a warm March day. He looks behind him but the back room is gone and so is the woman. He looks ahead and blinks. The shop has disappeared and he's standing in a corridor leading from what sounds like the main room of a bar back to the bathrooms. 

"Hey, man, can you move?" 

Jensen does, too shocked to breathe, much less argue with a stranger. The guy brushes past Jensen and Jensen just stands there, trying to figure out what the fuck is happening. Eventually he decides that there's only one thing for this type of shock and completely fucking unreal experience so he goes to the bar and says, "A double shot of the strongest thing you have."

The bartender, an older guy with a grizzled smile, raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything as he turns and pours out three shots of something pink, sliding the tumbler across the bar to Jensen. 

"It's pink," Jensen says. 

The bartender -- the tag on his shirt says 'Jeff' but Jensen never believes the names on waitstaff nametags, not having worn a tag that said 'Jenny' for three months the summer between high school and college -- laughs. "Everclear base, pretty boy. Drink up."

Jensen scowls at the nickname but he tosses the drink back in three easy swallows. It's sweet and sends warmth spiraling through his body but he doesn't taste the alcohol. 

"House special," 'Jeff' says. "We call 'em rattlesnakes. You okay?"

"Does anything, I dunno," Jensen says, slowly, as 'Jeff' fills his glass again. "Does anything strange happen around here?"

'Jeff' laughs. "Pretty boy, this is New fucking Orleans. Strange is what we do."

Jensen nods, slowly, and drinks again. "Yeah," he says. He's starting to feel the Everclear. "I'm beginning to get that impression."

Without a word, 'Jeff' turns, pulls a bottle from the lowest shelf, and pours a shot's worth into a clean shot glass, pushes it to Jensen. 

"What's that?" Jensen asks. 

"The most precious tobacco in the world is Louisiana Perique," 'Jeff' says, and the smile on his lips turns wistful just long enough for Jensen to notice. "They used to make a liquor out of it right here in town but now, not so much. Thankfully I know a guy who knows a guy, and he got me a case of the old stuff. What you're holding right there is Perique Liqueur de Tabac, one of the most beautiful drinks in the world. Don't waste it, pretty boy." 'Jeff' winks at him and Jensen rolls his eyes as 'Jeff' heads down to a trio of blonde coeds at the other end of the bar. 

Jensen picks up the shot of Perique and smells it. Smooth, easy, full of spice. That combination? That's what Jensen came down to New Orleans for. First he'll drink, then he'll go out and find Perique's human twin. 

He throws the shot back, rolls it around his mouth, then swallows. Once he's done, he licks his lips, throws a fifty on the bar for 'Jeff,' and leaves. 

It's dark outside. When he went into the shop, it was just past noon, sun high in the air and beating down on his skin, bringing out his freckles. Still, with the Everclear and the Perique rubbing against each other in his blood, Jensen can't even bring himself to care how he lost a good seven hours. 

Instead, he just shrugs and decides to search out a place where he can get a couple slices of pizza for cheap, maybe alongside a frozen daiquiri. Might be good to cool down now, while he has a chance, before the night heats up. Jensen looks down Bourbon, sees that it's gotten a little more lively but is nowhere near to a full-out party yet, and smiles to himself. 

Hell yeah the night's gonna get hot. 

 

Three slices of pizza and a frozen daiquiri later, Jensen leans against the outside of the one of the bars, feeling air conditioning hit his left side through the bar's open door and the humidity on his right side from the street. Bourbon's starting to pick up, not much but a little, and the apartments above the bars and shops are lighting up, French doors and windows opening, people sitting on the galleries and drinking coffee and beer in equal measure. 

One of the groups on a gallery tosses down a couple strands of beads at Jensen, then something wrapped in tissue paper. Jensen catches the package and bends down to pick up the beads; when he looks up, the gallery is empty and the rooms behind it are dark. 

If the disappearing tarot reader wasn't weird enough, now things are getting downright strange. Jensen pulls loose the ribbon keeping the package closed and ties it around his wrist. He opens the tissue paper and stares. A folded piece of paper rests on top of a poppet -- Jensen might not know much but he knows better than to call this a voodoo doll, though someone else probably would. 

He opens the paper, reads, _your choice: to manifest or not?_ and doesn't get what that means, not at all. Jensen folds the paper back up and slides it in his back pocket, then he holds the poppet up to the light and looks it over. It's not a fancy doll and it's clearly not meant to represent him, but it's very definitely male, with shaggy yarn hair and a wide open smile. He turns it over, looking for pins or marks, doesn't find anything. 

Stranger and stranger. 

 

Jensen wants to toss the poppet away but something about it stops him. He's not sure what to do with it, so he unties the ribbon from his wrist and loops it around the poppet's waist, then knots the ribbon to one of his belt loops. Even though he doesn't believe in the power a poppet represents, this whole day has been weird, vaguely magical, and he wonders what he's doing by tying the doll to himself. He does it anyway. 

 

He wanders down to Frenchman, has a beer in Snug Harbor and then The Spotted Cat and Blue Nile and The Maison. He takes in the music and dances with people out on the street; a random person slips a fedora on his head and a hand across his ass. Jensen throws his head back and laughs, and when the clocks are turning over from eleven to midnight, he heads back to Bourbon via Decatur and St. Ann, frozen white russian in his hand, smoking a joint he bought from a guy near French Market. 

 

The streets are crowded, people pressing against each other. The music's loud and the crowd is riotous, singing and dancing and laughing. Most of the guys aren't wearing shirts and most of the girls are in thin tank tops or bikini tops. There are miles and miles of skin on display, everyone drinking or smoking or both, people with facepaint and masks and beads and boas. Jensen grins, this is what he came here for, and throws the fedora high in the air before he slides his mask on, adjusting it to rest comfortably on his nose, before he joins the party. 

It might be all the booze he's had today or the joint or even just New Orleans, but time seems to stretch out, turn loose and elastic as he lets himself go and gives himself over to the music and the crowd. He feels like he could do anything, be anything, like the Jensen that lives in Texas and hates his life is completely different. Maybe the woman was right, earlier, maybe he does have power but only here, like this. Jensen smiles, then starts to laugh, and his vision goes blurry as he lifts his arms and starts to dance. 

 

The night goes on, just like the party. People are losing clothes and inhibitions in equal amounts and Jensen feasts his eyes on the skin displayed. He's looking for something special, the reason he came here, but he hasn't found it, found him, yet, so he keeps looking and keeps dancing. His vision is blurring -- it might be the mask or the smoke or the sweat dripping down his face but faces and colours and clothes are running together, blending into a giant miasma of wild liberation. Jensen's exhilarated, feels his heart racing and his blood pumping, and as he drops his arms down and brushes his side to make sure the poppet's still there, he sees _him_.

Tall, lithe, young -- the man, barely a man, is shirtless and wearing a pair of black leather pants that cling to his legs and must be the cause of the sweat dripping down his body. His chest is painted in shimmering swirls of green and blue and a silver feather boa is wrapped around his neck and sticking to his skin, perfect complement to his golden tan. His hair is shoulder-length, dark, and ragged, and the smile on his face is curved and sly and so, so enticing. Jensen loses his breath, seeing him. 

He doesn't seem to be with anyone, has his head tilted back and his arms raised as he dances, showing off the long clean lines of his neck and inches of bracelets around his wrists. Jensen almost can't move but he does, forces his way through the crowd until he's standing in front of the man. The man must feel Jensen's eyes on him because he smiles before he lets his hands fall right on to Jensen's shoulders and opens his eyes. 

"Hey," the man says. "M'name's Jared. What's yours?" 

Jensen almost can't breathe. The accent, it's Southern, vowels stretching out the way Jensen's self-control's taut, ready to snap at any moment. "Jensen," he says. 

"Jensen," Jared murmurs, and somehow Jensen still hears him, even though the party's going on around them like Jensen's world hasn't just shifted on its axis. Jared's hips are still moving, side-to-side, and the rhythm of that combined with his smile, the heat in his eyes, is hypnotic. "Jennnnnn-sennnnnn," Jared drawls. His hands move, fingers drawing lines down Jensen's chest, and Jared says, "You're wearing too many clothes, Jensen. Take off your shirt." 

Any other time, Jensen would rush to follow the order, would scramble with his shirt and probably get it stuck on his head or the mask, but he's still caught in Jared's tip-tilted fox eyes and he moves slow, practically a striptease. When the tank top's off, he tosses it to the ground, all without looking away from Jared. It's impossible to look away. 

Jared smiles and reaches out his hand again, pressing his palm up against Jensen's breastbone. The touch sends chills down Jensen's spine; he came to New Orleans looking for this, looking for _Jared_ , and he wants. Oh, he wants. "You here with anyone?" Jensen asks, and if Jared says yes, Jensen won't care, he's taking Jared anyway, can't imagine not taking him every which way he possibly can. 

Like it's an answer to his prayers, Jared smiles, a grin wider than the moon above them, showing off teeth that gleam in the light of fluorescent body paint and glow-in-the-dark hair chalk around them, and says, "You." 

"You wanna get out of here?" Jensen asks, practically blurts out. 

Jared laughs and leans down, nose nudging the string of Jensen's mask as he licks a path down Jensen's cheek to his collarbone. Jared bites and the sting of it goes straight to Jensen's dick. "Don't be in such a hurry, Jen," Jared says. "We got all night." 

Jensen wants to argue, wants to say that Jared's right, they've only got tonight and it's halfway gone, they need to make the most of the time they have, but then Jared smiles again and Jensen's lost. 

"I'll make it worth your while," Jared says. "Promise." And then he kisses Jensen. 

 

The kiss starts off slow, languid and lazy, a swipe of Jared's tongue across Jensen's lips, a hint of pressure with the promise of more -- and then more comes. Jensen opens his mouth, lets Jared in. Jared takes full advantage, delving his tongue into Jensen's mouth like he's fucking Jensen, deep and dirty. He maps out the points of Jensen's teeth and the smooth soft skin of his inner cheeks before he flicks the tip of his tongue against Jensen's. 

Jared's teasing him. 

Jensen groans, puts his hands on the waist of Jared's leather pants and yanks Jared closer. Their chests slide against each other, the feathers of their boas tangling, and Jensen's mask is knocked off-balance as they kiss, long past the need for air. Jensen doesn't care about breathing, not when their hips are pressed tight together, both of them hard, but Jared pulls back, chest heaving as he pants, kiss-swollen lips curved up in a smile. 

"Mmmmm. You taste good," Jared says, as he starts swaying again. He hasn't moved back, still has Jensen's fingers holding his pants, his crotch right up against Jensen's, and the movement sends shudders of pure pleasure sparking through Jensen's bloodstream. "Perique and rum and whiskey."

"Not so bad yourself," Jensen replies, licking his lips to get the last of Jared's taste from his skin. The sweet tang of marijuana, something more chemical, probably ecstasy, and, beneath that, cinnamon and black pepper and cherries, dark chocolate and ginger and pure sin. The taste makes Jensen's head spin. 

Jared bends his neck, strands of hair falling into his face, and he looks up through his bangs at Jensen. Those eyes…

"Dance with me," Jared asks. "Mardi Gras only happens once a year."

"Yeah," Jensen says, helpless to resist. He doesn't want to resist. "Whatever you want." 

Jared smiles at him and steps back from Jensen. Jensen feels the instant loss like someone's kneed him in the stomach. He steps forward, following Jared, and Jared holds out one hand. Jensen takes it before Jared can change his mind and it's like Jared knows what Jensen's thinking because his smile just grows wider. Their fingers twine together and Jared pulls him deeper into the crowd, thumb stroking Jensen's skin. 

 

They head down half a block towards Canal and Jared stops in the middle of the street, throws his hands up in the air again and starts shimmying from side to side, hips catching the beat of the music. Jensen finds his hands moving without even realising it, resting lightly on Jared's hips at first, then tighter, pressing himself to Jared's back and grinding against Jared's ass. Jared's back arches the first time Jensen lifts a hand, brushes it across Jared's chest and over his nipple; the second time Jensen does it, Jared laughs and turns, so that they're dancing facing each other. 

"You keep doing that," Jared says, "and we'll miss the best part of the party." 

Jensen doesn't know how anything could be better than this, than what's already happened, but he grins at the flush on Jared's cheeks and the words he spoke. It's impossible to miss that Jared's as turned on as Jensen but it's nice to know it's not just a physical thing. The heat in Jared's voice, the dark, hungry look in his eyes, means Jared wants this just as much as Jensen and is drawing it out for his own reasons. Foreplay, maybe; by the time they get to the actual fucking, Jensen's going to be so ready for it, the sex'll last thirty seconds, max. 

He doesn't want that. He wants this man for as long as he'll let Jensen have him. It's strange -- not as strange as the disappearing occult shop or the tarot reading or the poppet, not in the same way and maybe shocking is a better word -- but Jensen thinks that he'd keep Jared forever if Jared would let himself be kept. 

"Aw, Jen," Jared purrs, and tugs Jensen over to the side of the street, leans up against the wall and puts his index fingers in Jensen's jeans, pulling Jensen close enough that they're sharing air. "I promise, Jen, _cher_ , I'm yours as long as you want me."

They kiss again, Jensen leading it this time, licking the taste and breathing the air from Jared's mouth. He presses as close to Jared as possible and Jared spreads his legs, pulls Jensen in even closer. Jared wraps one leg around Jensen, one hand on Jensen's waist and the other cupping the curve of Jensen's skull, and it's perfect, trapped like this, in the embrace of this long-limbed, fey creature that Jensen's having a hard time believing is real. 

He tangles his fingers in Jared's hair, the way he itched to do at the first sight of Jared, and tugs, pulling tight. Jared moans, melts against Jensen, and they're so close that Jensen can feel Jared's dick twitch when he does it again. "Makin' me think maybe I won't mind leaving the party early, _cher_ ," Jared says. 

Jensen smiles, his own dark, full-of-promise smile, and Jared bares his throat, tilting his head to one side. Jensen can't resist the invitation so he leans forward and sucks his mark on to that long, clean column of skin. Seeing the bruise start to come in makes him harder than he's ever been in his entire life -- it's almost painful and if he's not careful, if Jared keeps looking at him like that, then he's going to come in his jeans for the first time since he was thirteen. 

A few people passing them, at the periphery of the crowded street, wolf-whistle and yell, seeing Jensen pressing Jared against the wall, seeing Jared holding Jensen close. One of them offers Jensen a handful of pills and Jared reaches out, says, " _Merci_." 

Jensen doesn't know what they are, doesn't care, not when Jared puts one between his teeth and holds it there. Instead, brain shot to hell, he leans, takes the pill from Jared's teeth with his own, and lets it dissolve in his mouth as they kiss. When they break apart, Jared takes one as well and shoves the rest in Jensen's back pocket. 

"C'mon, Jen," Jared says, and he eases himself away from Jensen, pulls him back into the party. Jensen watches, lets himself be led, entranced by the way Jared's pants have slipped lower on his hips. He can see sweat gathered at the small of Jared's back and wants to lick; he can see hints of the top of Jared's crack and wants more, wants to yank the pants off right here and now and bury his face down there, rim Jared like he might never get the chance again. 

Jared dances but before he loses himself to the beat, he leans down and says, "You'll get the chance, _cher_. Time enough for anything and ev'rything, if you wanna."

With the latest tab of ecstasy hitting his bloodstream, Jensen laughs, can't help it, and spins in the middle of the street. He gets dizzy but Jared is right there, tall and strong and golden-blue-green-silver-hazel, and then they start swaying from side-to-side, together, practically one person. 

 

Jensen has no idea what time it is or how long it's been since he found Jared. Time has lost all sense of meaning, every ounce of attention caught on Jared, and Jensen might be unwilling or unable to look away, to stop touching and kissing and licking, but he doesn't care. He's surrendered willingly to the siren song of Jared's sensuality. They dance and make out in turns, move through the crowded streets so easily, everyone parting for Jared like the waves for Moses, twice as relentless, thrice as beautiful. 

"What did I do right in a past life?" he asks himself, during one of the times when Jared's leading him toward a daiquiri stand. 

Jared chuckles, a sound that has a line direct to Jensen's dick, and says, "S'all you, _cher_ ," right before he pours a test tube shot of rum into Jensen's mouth. By the time Jensen's swallowed and shuddered at the taste, Jared's slowly dribbling out a second test tube over Jensen's chest. He sits on one of the stools and tugs Jensen close right before he starts licking the rum straight from Jensen's skin, paying special attention to the curves of his muscles and the tight nubs of his nipples. 

Jensen stands there, barely breathing, and the crowd starts chanting, counting down from sixty. 

"Finally made it," Jared says. "C'mon, Jen." 

Jared pays for the rum with three tabs of ecstasy, swiped them out of Jensen's back pocket with a grope and a fleeting leer, then Jared steers Jensen back out into the crowd. He kisses Jensen, takes Jensen's mouth, insinuating himself into every inch of Jensen's being, and then, when the crowd gets down to 'ten,' he backs away and lifts up his arms, pulling Jensen's up as well. 

Jensen has no idea what's going on, but when the crowd gets from 'one' to the beginning of a large wave of screams, a surge of _something_ comes swooshing down Bourbon from Esplanade-way. Jensen closes his eyes as the tide of magic fills him, coats every inch of skin and then sinks in deep, curling around his heart and lungs and bones. It makes every hair on Jensen's body stand on end, sends chills chasing goosebumps down his arms and legs, and when Jensen lets his arms stop resisting gravity and fall to his sides, when he opens his eyes, he gasps. 

Jared is glowing, literally _glowing_ , lit from within, the edges of his cheekbones darkened in the shadows of his bright, bright eyes. He has no idea what this is, what it means, this magic, any of it, anything that's happened since the cab dropped him off, and Jared smiles, this time shy and soft, and mouths, _Look at yourself, Jen._

Jensen looks at his hands, sees them glowing as well, the exact same color as the star on the card the tarot reader pulled for him earlier, the exact same color as Jared despite Jared's tan and Jensen's pale, freckled skin. He's glowing everywhere, a subtle luminescence that bounces off of the boa and the beads and the body paint smeared on him from Jared's chest. He looks back at Jared, gaping, and can't even find the words to question what's happening. 

It could be the ecstasy. He's had so much alcohol today, more than he's ever had since college, and drugs as well, joints and ecstasy and _Jared_ \-- his mind could have finally snapped under the weight of all those hallucinogens and he's imagining this whole thing, has imagined every single thing that's happened over the course of the day. 

Jared reaches, runs his fingers down Jensen's arm and lets them rest on the poppet. 

The poppet's real. The poppet, with its shaggy hair and wide smile, the erect penis crudely sculpted on the front, it's real. It's real and now that Jensen thinks about it, it's Jared. It has to be Jared. 

Jared's fingers move from the poppet, trailing across Jensen's hip and resting on his crotch, huge palm covering Jensen's dick. He squeezes, just a little, and Jensen bites his lip to bleeding. "What's happening?" he asks. "What _is_ this?" 

"This is New Orleans, Jen," Jared says. "The most magical city in the world, on the most magical night of the year. All this energy and focus and abandon, _cher_ , y'ever think what that could do? What it could bring forth?" 

Jensen shakes his head. There's something on the tip of his tongue, some question he wants to ask, but Jared smiles again, says, "C'mon, Jen. Let's get to the good part, yeah?" 

Only one way to answer that. "Your place or mine?" 

Jared laughs, a dirty sound with the promise of heat and an edge of danger. "Mine," he says, eyes glinting. No one else has stopped partying, the streets are still crammed full of people, too many to count, but as far as Jensen's concerned, the only two humans alive on the entire planet right now are him and Jared. No one else matters. Nothing else matters. 

"Let's go, then," Jensen says, spurred on by the night, the magic, the glow still leaking through Jared's flesh, the look in Jared's eyes, the arc of Jared's smile. He wants Jared so badly that he's about to come just from thinking about it. He's had Jared's mouth, felt Jared's dick, and he can only wonder what Jared tastes like, lower down, and how he feels. 

"All the time in the world," Jared promises. "But if you don't wanna wait, we could do it right here." 

Jensen thinks about it, honestly considers it, they wouldn't be the only ones having sex in the middle of Bourbon, but -- no. He wants Jared spread out on a bed beneath him, no one else there to see the strange, inhuman beauty of Jared's body. He wants Jared all to himself, wants to keep Jared away from anyone and everyone else, for the rest of his life. He's selfish, Jensen's always struggled with that, with his grasping, needy possessiveness, but it's never been such a losing battle before. It's hopeless to fight, not when Jared's stroking his cheek.

"No," Jensen says, and he can't believe he's still able to form words when all he can think about is Jared under him, around him. "Your place. Is it close?" 

"Close 'nough," Jared whispers, right into Jensen's ear. "Follow me, _cher_." His breath, the vibrations of his words, sends a full-body flush of burning want through Jensen. 

When Jared guides Jensen toward Rue Iberville, Jensen lets him. 

 

Jared walks down a narrow alleyway between two tall buildings, darkened shopfronts on the ground level and apartments above, it looks like. In the back, there's an old wooden staircase leading up; Jensen's not sure about it but with a view of Jared's ass in those leather pants in front of him, he doesn't exactly have the voice to register his complaints. Jared opens a door at the top that isn't locked and when he ushers Jensen inside, all Jensen can do is stare. 

There are vintage Carnivale masks on the walls instead of pictures, and the riotous colours and wild feathers are splashes of color against plain white walls. The floor's covered in a thick carpet, a blue so dark that Jensen thinks it's black at first. Heavy brocade curtains cover the windows and the furniture is all old and classic -- lots of wood and lush fabrics. The entire room is a picture of luxury and Jensen doesn't waste time in taking off his shoes and socks, sinking his feet into the carpet. It feels decadent between his toes, under the sore soles of his feet, and Jensen lets out a wanton moan at the sensation. 

"All you gotta do tonight is feel," Jared tells him, taking off his boots and socks as well, leaving them next to Jensen's. "Do whatever feels right." 

With more bravado than he knew he possessed, buoyed up by the alcohol and the drugs and the weight of Jared's gaze, Jensen asks, "Where's your bedroom?"

Jared tilts his head toward the left and this time it's Jensen who leads the way. 

 

The bedroom matches the front room; the carpet's the same and there are masks in this room as well, bright and shining things that look halfway like a Vegas showgirl's. The center of the room, though, is dominated by a four-poster bed bigger than one Jensen's ever seen before. He looks at Jared, figures that Jared's taller than him and needs the room, but it looks like a bed made for orgies, piled high with thick blankets and a mess of pillows, billowing golden fabric gathered around the posts and tied back with golden ribbon. A flush of jealousy runs through Jensen, head to toe, and Jared hugs him from the back, resting his chin on Jensen's shoulder and lacing his fingers together at Jensen's waist. 

"Nothing to be jealous about, Jen," Jared murmurs, a soft promise. "Only yours."

"Damn straight," Jensen snaps. 

Jared laughs and the feel of it rides Jensen's skin. Jared's hands unlace, fingers playing in the treasure trail leading down from Jensen's navel, and then they circle the button to Jensen's jeans, toy with the zipper. 

"Can I, _cher_?" Jared asks. 

Jensen leans his head back, right into the steady warmth of Jared's body, and nods, voice gone. 

 

Jared's long fingers are sure and steady even though Jensen's a bundle of impatient nerves. He gets Jensen naked, fingertips just barely gliding over Jensen's dick, and then pushes Jensen to the bed. Jensen perches on the edge of it, fabrics warm under his ass and so, so soft. Jared goes over to the corner, turns on a CD, and Jensen shivers at the sound of something close to Dr. John, just barely audible. It's not music he'd normally associate with sex but something about the rasp of the guy's voice and the incantatory quality of his words fits, blends in with this off-kilter day and turns it up a notch hotter. 

Jared's hips swing as he walks back towards the bed and Jensen, a slow walk that's more of a prowl, coordinated to the timing of the music and Jensen's racing heartbeat. Jared's just so fucking beautiful that it practically kills Jensen, all long, lean limbs and miles of skin, shadowed eyes and open smile, a creature who teases out the length of a night of foreplay into torture just for a hint of magic that ends up making him glow. 

And then Jared undoes the button to his leather trousers and slowly, too slowly, tugs them down. The instant his cock springs free, hard and dripping already, Jensen's throat goes dry at the same time that his mouth fills with saliva. He wants, so very badly, to get his mouth around that dick, taste the reddening head and the throbbing vein, stretch his lips around the heavy weight that's practically screaming his name for all the attention he can pay anything else. 

"Whatever you want, Jen," Jared says. "Anything and everything. But are you sure you don't want me to suck you off, _cher_? I'd go to my knees for you, just say the word."

Jensen shakes his head, says, "No," instantly. Oh, he wants to know what Jared's mouth feels like around him, whether Jared could take him in all the way without choking or, if he did choke, if those ferally intelligent eyes would shed tears and line his cheeks with salt, but more than that, he wants to be the man of action between them, wants Jared to stand there or sit there or kneel there or lie there, unable to do anything but take the full force of Jensen's desire and enjoy it. 

Jared smiles, says, "Every minute of it, promise." 

Jensen stands up, crosses the distance between them, and sinks to his knees. He licks his lips, looking at Jared's dick, and Jared runs his nails over Jensen's head, a slight tingle of pain on Jensen's scalp through the short spikes of his hair. Jensen opens his mouth and, with a groan, takes Jared's cock into his mouth. 

Jared's large, bigger than average, that's for sure, both in length and girth, but Jensen can't focus on more than the _taste_. Jared tastes of high summer days when it's too hot to do more than give in to the heat and humidity and have slow, sweaty sex, bodies sliding against each other lazily, languorously. He tastes of midnight, the way it feels to walk alone in the dark when everyone else is sleeping and get high off the power and danger of being the lone, solitary watchmen against the shadows of the night. 

He tastes of unadulterated _maleness_ , bitter and salty and, as the head of his cock brushes the back of Jensen's throat, Jared groans out a long and breathy sigh, says, "S'good, Jen. You're so good. Could stay like this forever." Jensen uses a hint of teeth the next time his lips go down Jared's shaft and Jared shudders, says, "You keep this up, I'm gonna come in your mouth. Should see yourself, _cher_ , those pretty, plump lips stretched 'round me. You've been gagging for it, haven't you? Waitin' all night for this, to drop to your knees and suck me off. It as good as you thought, Jen? I'm as good as you thought?" 

Jensen's not willing to let Jared's dick out of his mouth to answer the question but he puts his hands on Jared's hips and uses his fingertips to swirl out an answer along Jared's skin. Jared's warm under his touch and inside of his mouth, practically burning, a furnace of heat and lust, and Jensen decides, right then and there, no matter how stupid it is, he's not letting go of this. He's not giving Jared up. Whatever he has to do, he'll do. He'll leave Texas and move here, quit his job and his life that he doesn't like anyway and come live in a ramshackle shotgun cottage on the outskirts of the city if he has to, for this. 

For Jared. 

"Suck me good, _cher_ ," Jared says, and thumbs the corner of Jensen's lips. "Do me good."

Jensen does, speeds up his rhythm and the use of teeth, of his throat, of his tongue, of the pressure of his moaning at the taste, and Jared comes. Jensen wants to close his eyes, send all of his focus to his tongue and throat so he can savor as much of the taste as he can even while he's swallowing, but his eyes are caught on Jared's, the two of them stuck in silent communication as Jared spurts down Jensen's throat. 

When Jared's done, when there's nothing left and his dick's flaccid, Jensen sits back on his heels and realises that he's come as well, all over himself, the carpet, Jared's shins and feet. 

"How we gonna pass the time while we wait to get hard again?" Jared finally asks, grinning like a cat staring at a saucer of cream. 

Jensen smiles back, says, "I got a few ideas," and stands up, pulls Jared over to the bed. 

 

If Jared proves one thing over the next little while, it's that he's just as eager as Jensen and twice as willing to go along with anything Jensen comes up with. The first thing Jensen does is push Jared facedown on the bed and make good on his earlier wish -- he licks up the salt-sweat from the small of Jared's back and then pulls Jared's cheeks apart and rims him until Jared's hard again. 

It's the same taste as Jared's cock but more concentrated, heady and delicious sin that sends his mind spinning away and has him rutting the bed as he licks and nibbles and curls his tongue inside of Jared. If this is what Satan offered Eve in the Garden, no wonder she fell. Jensen would damn himself for Jared, to have Jared again and again, forever. He won't ever get his fill of the taste of Jared's hole, of the way Jared clenches around him when Jensen's tongue-fucking him, but he misses Jared's eyes and smile and, yeah, Jared brought it up earlier and now that Jensen's had enough of a fix for the moment, he can wait a little for the next hit. 

He rolls Jared over, ignores Jared's dick to straddle Jared's chest and paint Jared's lips with the beads of pre-come gathering on his cock. 

"You gonna give me a chance now?" Jared asks, and Jensen laughs, doesn't answer except to feed Jared his cock. 

It has to be uncomfortable for Jared -- this is an awkward angle no matter how many pillows are under Jared's neck and head -- but Jensen'd never know. Jared doesn't complain. In fact, he seems eager, almost as much as Jensen was earlier, and he's good. The lips and tongue that drove Jensen wild from kisses out on Bourbon are so much -- so much more _here_ , like this, in this room with just the two of them and the chanting at the edge of perceptible noise, in the dark and decadent room, naked and together in a way that Jensen hasn't ever been with anyone before. 

Jensen pulls back before he comes and he wants to smirk at the way Jared strains to follow Jensen's dick. "Please," Jared begs. " _Cher_ , please." 

"Only place my come's going is inside your ass," Jensen says, and he knows his eyes are glinting even though there's no light in this room save what's leaking in from the main room beyond the door. 

As soon as he realises what he's said, he stops, close to horrified. He's never had unprotected sex, not even with his ex-wife, and it's something he's proud of, a belief he holds close to his heart after seeing things happen too many of his friends, either unwanted pregnancy or STDs or HIV. But even with the horror, right up alongside of it, is the image of his come leaking down Jared's thighs, the way he could push the leak back into Jared's body, claiming him in such a primal way, keeping part of himself inside of Jared forever, a clear sign that Jared is _his_.

"Sounds good," Jared says, and lifts a hand, fits his palm to the curve of Jensen's cheek and jaw. "I'm yours, _cher_ , Jen, Jensen. Take me. My Jensen, please, make me yours. Make me _real_." 

Just like that, all of Jensen's hesitation is gone. 

He moves, kneels between Jared's spread legs, and reaches down to see if Jared's still loose from the rimming earlier. Jensen gets two fingers inside; Jared's stretched but not loose, so Jensen takes his fingers out, puts them to Jared's mouth, and says, "Suck. S'all the lube you're getting." 

Jared smiles and parts his lips. Jensen puts four fingers into Jared's mouth and then has to close his eyes and curl his other hand around the base of his cock as Jared fellates them, no other word for what he's doing. When Jensen finally pulls them out, they're slick and shiny with spit and Jared's smile is back, halfway to smug. That expression drops the instant Jensen scissors two fingers inside of Jared, turning from a smile to an indolent expression of complete physical pleasure. 

"So fucking good, Jen," Jared says. "Bet your dick's gonna feel amazing, but, mmm, _cher_ , we'll have to try it with your fist some time, promise me. Wanna see if I can take your whole hand in me, keep you there, stretched wide open for you. Promise me, please, _cher_. Promise me we'll try it, Jensen." 

The mental image of that is almost enough to have Jensen come, just like that, just from imagining it: Jared on his hands and knees, muscles trembling, threatening to give out as he holds himself up, sweat beading on his back and dripping off his forehead, panting as Jensen works in his hand, one finger at a time. Jensen breathes through the arousal and fights it back by sheer strength of will enough to say, "Promise. I promise, Jared. We'll do it. We'll do it all. Anything you want. Everything." 

Jensen could spend the rest of his life like this, with Jared, and it wouldn't be long enough. An eternity wouldn't be long enough. 

"Fuck me," Jared begs, and Jensen can't believe he'd almost forgotten that he's got fingers inside of Jared. He moves them, stretches and searches, and when Jared gasps, back arching up off the blankets, Jensen grins. He knows what that means, so he strokes again, right in the same place, and Jared hisses out a curse from between his teeth. "Jen, please, don't tease. Fuck me, please, 'm past ready to have you in me."

Jensen leans down, forward, and tells Jared, no little bit of thrilled vengeance in his tone, "Payback, Jared. Kept me out on Bourbon when all I wanted to do was get here. Made me wait, so I'm gonna make you wait, and you can't do anything about it, got it? Beg, though. Like to hear you beg -- might change my mind if it's pretty enough." 

Jensen adds another finger, three working Jared open, grazing his prostate every so often, and Jared starts to beg, doing his best to convince Jensen to just fuck him, he's open, he's ready, so ready, and he needs this, needs Jensen, needs Jensen to fuck him and fill him with come. 

Jensen draws it out as long as he can stand it, until Jared's near to tears with need, and then he takes out his fingers and positions himself, places the head of his cock right at Jared's hole. "You sure?" Jensen asks, and even though he's not sure what exactly he's asking, he thinks Jared knows and takes Jared's nod and pleadings as an answer. 

Without another wasted moment, he pushes inside of Jared, bottoming out in one long, slow slide, until his balls are against Jared's skin. He's never been so deep inside of anyone else, never been so connected to someone else, never felt like another person could be home the way Jared feels now. 

"So fucking good," Jared says, and he shifts, muscles clenching around Jensen as he moves, making them both groan. Jared slides a pillow under his back, raising his hips, and throws one leg over Jensen's shoulder, an unnaturally easy display of flexibility that pushes them even closer together. "But you gotta fuck me, _cher_. Need it -- need _you_ \-- so much. Come in me, Jen. Fill me up but fuck me good and hard first. Wanna feel you for days after this, every time I breathe. Please, _cher_ , _please_." 

Jensen smiles, brushes his thumb across Jared's forehead and then licks off the sweat he gathered on the tip of his thumb. "How'm I supposed to resist that?' he asks. "Not possible." 

He pulls almost all the way out, still focused on Jared's face, then slams back in. The bed practically shakes with the force of it and Jensen groans at the hot, tight pressure even as Jared's throwing his head back, words dripping out of his mouth like honey, slow and sweet to Jensen's ears. 

 

They fuck. This isn't sex, or making love, this is fast and frantic and furious fucking. The bed's squeaking with every movement and if the headboard was against the wall, it'd be banging out clouds of dust from the drywall. Jensen's never fucked anyone this hard before but now that he's started, he can't stop. Jared doesn't seem to mind, keeps telling Jensen to go harder, deeper, faster, like Jensen isn't already. Jared's nails claw down Jensen's back, breaking the skin and drawing blood, and the pressure of Jensen's fingers on Jared's hips are leaving bruises that keep blossoming outwards from his touch. They mark each other, visible signs of their need, and just when Jensen's thinking that there's no way he hasn't come by now, he can feel orgasm building in his toes. 

"Close," he pants out, slamming into Jared again. "So close, Jared. Gonna -- gonna come in you so soon. Fuck, gonna fill you with it." 

Jared keens out his approval, a ragged breath of air that spirals upwards and brings the taste of Jared right into Jensen's mouth, filling the space between them. Jensen wants it, wants that taste forever, wants this for a million forevers, and Jared says, "Give it to me, Jen. Breath and blood and come, all from you, come on, please, don't make me wait." 

Jensen thrusts and comes and keeps thrusting through climax, filling Jared with more come than Jensen's ever had before. Like that set off his own reaction, Jared hits his orgasm as well, and the fluttering of his muscles around Jensen milks out more from Jensen's dick. The two of them hover in a moment that stretches out, where the entire focus of their beings is on the spaces Jensen's filling up inside of Jared, and then the taut moment snaps and Jensen collapses, right on top of Jared. 

He feels sated and yet empty and so very, very tired. 

"Rest, _cher_ ," Jared murmurs, and shifts them both so that they're lying on their sides, the warm expanse of Jared behind Jensen, pressed up against his back and pulling him close, one hand resting in the curls of hair above Jensen's dick. "Done me so good, we both gotta recover. Rest and we can do it again." 

Again. Jensen's exhausted but just thinking about the next time has his dick giving a twitch, a valiant effort that Jared feels, his hand so close. 

"Mine," Jared murmurs, amused, and the low tone lulls Jensen to sleep. "All mine. Forever." 

" _Mine_ ," Jensen says back, as he yawns. "Forever?"

Jensen's eyes close against his will and he's nearly asleep when he hears Jared say, "Forever, _cher_." 

 

When Jensen wakes up, the first thing he notices is that every single part of him _hurts_. The second thing is that he's not in Jared's bedroom anymore. The sheets don't feel right and the blankets aren't thick enough and the pillows are all wrong. He opens his eyes and sits up, stunned as he looks around his hotel room. He has no idea how he got back here. 

He gets up, grimacing at the way his muscles protest the movement, and sees a pile of clothes near the door. They're his clothes from the night before, even the tank top he discarded in the madness of the party on Bourbon. He's confused, so confused, and when he looks closer, he sees a lump under the shirt. Jensen crouches down, moves the shirt, and comes face to face with the poppet. All he can think is that the penis, erect the night before, is limp, and there's a fingerprint of blood right over the poppet's heart. 

Jensen picks up the poppet and strokes its face, feeling Jared under his finger, the curves and angles of Jared's cheekbone and jaw. 

A knock on the door startles Jensen and he drops the poppet. He stands, looks out the door's peephole, and frowns when he doesn't see anyone outside in the hall. He turns and stops, stares, because Jared is standing there, wearing ripped jeans and a t-shirt, feet bare, beaming at Jensen. 

"Mornin', _cher_ ," Jared says. 

Jensen crosses the space between them faster than he's ever moved before and kisses Jared. When he's done, when he has to stop for air, he runs his hands over Jared's shoulders, down his chest, over his hips. 

"I don't understand," Jensen finally says. He's lost, so far out of his depth, and doesn't have the willpower to force his attention through his hangover no matter that he wants to. 

Jared takes his hand, traces the veins on the underside of Jensen's wrist, and leads him over to the bed. They sit on the edge of the bed, Jared's arm around Jensen's shoulders, pulling him close, and Jensen melts into Jared, inhales Jared's scent and lets Jared hold his weight. 

"What's happening?" Jensen asks. "What happened?" 

"The magic of Mardi Gras," Jared says, softly. "And the power of one man who wanted something more than anything else. You came here for me, Jen. And you found me." 

Jensen closes his eyes. He thinks he understands what Jared isn't saying -- the tarot reading when the old woman told Jensen he had power and the choice of how to use it, the poppet, the note with the poppet saying he could choose to manifest or not, Jared begging for blood, breathe, and come last night, the way Jensen felt so empty after they climaxed. 

"You're really mine, aren't you," Jensen says. 

"Forever," Jared says. 

Jensen has no idea what to do next but then Jared's kissing the top of his head and he realises that he has a lifetime to decide because Jared will always be there. 

Jared is his, forever, and nothing else matters.


End file.
